


Indulgence

by Mackem



Category: Fake News RPF, GAIMAN Neil - Works, The Daily Show
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Daily Show is Jon's baby. He can invite on whoever he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulgence

Hosting a show with an interview segment occasionally let Jon indulge his own interests. This was one of those occasions.  
  
It was all Stephen's fault. Stephen had recommended the books to him. Eventually "recommendation" had evolved into Stephen practically forcing _Neverwhere_ firmly into Jon's hands. Jon, unwilling to face any more of the cheerily incessant, "You'll love it!"-s from Stephen, had reluctantly begun to read.  
  
He hated it when Stephen was right. The rest of Neil's books had soon been devoured, and Jon had taken the release of _Stardust_ on DVD as impetus to meet its original author under the guise of an interview.  
  
Jon had only ever seen Gaiman inside the covers of his books. The picture had always made him seem kind of...crazed, almost, and the effect was not diminished in person. He was slightly taller than Jon, but then, who wasn't? He dressed as Jon wished he could on the show, in a black t-shirt and jeans, scruffy boots and scruffier hair, the make-up added for television seeming out of place in the sombre ensemble.  
  
Said makeup was currently being smeared over his own face as their lips moved together. The man had a pleasant voice, slow and steady, and the British accent caused warm tingles to swirl pleasantly to his cock. "I knew all Brits are gay," Jon muttered with a smirk, his fingers in that mess of hair as hands - writer's hands, smoker's hands, all the details leapt out at him in the moment - struggled with his belt.  
  
"I'm British-American, actually," Neil retorted evenly. "I've got my green card. You can even check my passport, if you like!" he added, those long fingers sliding past Jon's pants - _trousers_ \- and into his boxers - his _pants_.  
  
"Fuck, I don't care, just do that again!" Jon commanded, his prick teased roughly. Neil complied silently, watching Jon's face over the minutes as he slowly reached his climax, no doubt taking in every detail. Jon wondered if he'd end up in a novel, some character cobbled together from spare parts, and then chuckled as he realised everyone must wonder that of novelists.  
  
Neil's pleasure came while Jon bent over a desk, a fountain pen digging into his stomach. It seemed appropriate - Neil's writing had been the catalyst for his invitation onto the show - so Jon accepted the discomfort, and found angry blue-black scratches in his flesh that night.


End file.
